


Love me

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Matricide, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Pity Sex, Smut, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 15:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: Arthur hires a carer for his mother.





	Love me

Penny Fleck, despite her many illnesses, is a talkative woman.

Her voice is sweet and lilting when she re-tells tales of her youth, back when she worked for the Waynes, a commoner amongst royalty. She’s delusional in her optimism although loyal to memories of better days, often reminding you that the outside world wasn’t always unattainable, those legs of hers once danced with a delicate fluidity and her future was once full of promise.

Penny Fleck is indeed an old soul, but remarkably good company. She’s attentive and responsive and chatty by nature.

It’s her son, Arthur, who rarely speaks.

”I made some pasta earlier, there’s leftovers in the fridge if you want them.” You smile politely, gesturing towards the fridge and he only nods in response, eyes stuck uncomfortably to the floor.

He’s a shy thing, not the most charming but you can tell he has a good heart. Penny tells you that he works as a party clown, that he was born to bring smiles and laughter to the world and _my, oh my, Arthur was always such a happy boy—_

Remnants of white face paint coat his jaw. You wonder if you should tell him before you take your leave.

”You got a little...yeah, there...” he catches your stare and pulls out an oily, yellowing handkerchief. Barely containing a grimace, you make your way to Penny’s room where she’s watching Gotham Daily.

_”I can’t believe super rats are even a thing! First the economy, now this! Next thing you know, we’re all gonna die of the plague!”_ the panelists grumble angrily, reminiscing about how once the city was a powerhouse.

”Can you believe this? Just gets from bad to worse!” She huffs out, clumsily spooning a piece of pasta into her mouth and you chuckle.

”Alright, Miss Fleck, I’m off. See you tomorrow.” You press a light kiss to her hair, and flash a smile her way. 

“Bye, sweetheart. You get home safe!”

Fingers brushing the doorknob, you notice Arthur standing in the hallway. He’s staring. His eyes are deep set, a shocking shade of green and entirely empty. There’s a sadness about this man, a stifling quality to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Arthur. Have a good night.” He blinks, dimly, as though broken out of a trance, but makes no move to leave.

As you shut the door and walk towards the elevator, resonant, maniacal laughter bursts from behind you.

~

He can’t take his eyes off of you.

Pretty.

So.

So.

Pretty.

~

“Did anything come in the post?”

”Not yet, no. Maybe next time, though.”

Penny shrinks into her chair, clearly dejected at your words. Her unwavering deference has always made you question the relationship she had with Thomas Wayne. You wonder just how closely they had worked together.

The door clicks shut and you crane your head forward. Arthur’s back. You’ll be taking your leave soon.

A flash of crimson, a pained grunt and a discordant, hurried rhythm of footsteps.

”Oh my God, Arthur, what happened?” Penny shouts, eyes bugging out of her sockets. You stare, completely in shock.

Rivulets of blood pour from his nostrils. For a moment, it seems as though his entire jaw has been ripped clean off with all the red smeared around his face. The wrinkled, tired skin around his left eye is swollen, discoloured with an ugly, sallow shade and a nasty looking gash lies on his cheekbone. The skin is mangled, flesh split open and fuck, you’re surprised he was able to make it back home like this.

”S’nothing.” His voice is flat, defeated, more than anything.

”Uh, it’s alright,” you take his hand, looping your fingers around his own and take him to the kitchen. “I’ll patch you up.”

You seat him on a kitchen stool, the legs creaking suspiciously (they should really replace that, you digress) and pull out a pack of ice from the freezer.

”This is gonna hurt.” You warn him, but receive nothing more than a wide-eyed blink. His neck and ears, are an angry red and you heave a sigh. Who could’ve done something like this?

”Arthur?” Penny calls out while you go get the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet.

“I’m alright, mom!”

You return with supplies and curve your lips into a warm, comforting smile. He’s a good guy, really. Maybe a little on the creepy side but completely undeserving of this.

He’s quiet throughout your ministrations, although surprisingly attentive. His eyes, even the one that is swollen beyond belief, still manages to hang open and watch you. He stares and stares and stares and stares, dark brows furrowed.

You don’t like this look one bit.

It’s too sweet.

”What happened, Arthur?” You don’t expect a response. Maybe some choking, hoarse laughter but not real communication, that’s far too much of a stretch for Arthur. Maybe it’s bitter, maybe it’s selfish, but you’d just like to hear his voice. Unfiltered. Unrestrained. You want to hear him.

Then you do. 

”Just some guys. They didn’t like clowns much.”

He speaks softly, with a tone of resignation. You’ve never heard such decadent sadness before, such bittersweet tragedy before. He sounds like true misery.

”Oh.” You nod, stupidly, unable to produce a proper response.

”Shit!”

He draws backwards as the alcohol stings his flesh.

“Sorry. It’s—it’s gonna be uncomfortable.” 

You fall back into silence, after that. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t watch, almost as though he’s comatose. His intensity is ceaseless. It wraps its cold, bony hands around your neck and _squeezes_.

He thanks you quietly, with a low murmur and blush on his cheeks. You recoil backwards, ready to say your goodbyes. This heavy, horrible languor is going to be the death of you. Fresh air. That’s all you need, right now.

It’s when you reach the door, that you remember.

”Arthur,” you turn around, and smile weakly. “This is for you!” 

It rests on his palm, a fresh, crisp white handkerchief.

When the door clicks shut, tears fall.

~

It’s still warm, his hand. Warm with a woman’s touch, warm with your touch. He sniffs it, licks it, nuzzles each and every one of his fingers before they slide downwards, down into darker territory and—

”Fuck!” He breathes out against his pillows.

He climaxes to the thought of a kind smile.

~

Murray Franklin plays distantly in the background, a chorus of laughter following his words and Arthur looks enthralled.

”Hey,” his head snaps up. “Can you take this?” The consolatory smile you flash him is a reflex, at this point. Arthur, by nature, seems to inspire such pity from you.

He takes the plate, eyes brimming with a quiet contentment. It’s strangely domestic, this is. The three of you, watching the Murray Franklin’s show on a winter night and plates of curried rice in your laps. Almost like a family.

”Do you like comedy?” He asks, and this time, it’s you who’s overtaken with surprise. This is the first time he’s ever initiated conversation with you, after a year of employment.

It’s nice.

”Yeah, I like comedy. I prefer the old guys though,” you wrinkle your nose. New comedy is all about sex, laughter measured in how crude you can be. “You know Chaplin? He’s my favourite.”

He releases a heavy breath and you realise that he was actually holding it in.

“Yeah, I do.” A smile curves on his lips, a look of self-fulfilment and his eyes are back on the television set.

When Penny is fast asleep, you wash the dishes. The gentle pitter patter of rain sounds against the window, water spirals down the drain and the occasional clattering of plates is strangely therapeutic.

Arthur sits on the kitchen stool, watching you.

”Do you need anything?” You dry the last of the plates and turn to look at him.

He’s nervous, leg shaking and adams apple bobbing as he gulps in a comically loud way.

”I just—I-I just wanted to say,” he fumbles out.

“You look—you’re very...um....” he tries, once more.

  
“_Hahahahahahaha_!”  


  
You crouch down, trying to look at his face. He takes his hands and smothers the sound, doubling over. He’s breathless, he’s choking, he’s in agony—  


”Don’t do that.” A scolding tone and he peeks over at you with glossy, mournful eyes.

”You can always laugh around me.”

He looks saddened, for some strange, imperceptible reason. He laughs for a minute, two minutes, three minutes and then it’s silent.

He’s staring again and your heart drops.

”You’re very pretty, is all.” He mumbles out , before disappearing into his bedroom.

~

Some shitty sitcom is playing and Arthur is quelling the urge to projectile vomit at how poorly written the punchlines are when she says it.

”I see the way you look at her.” Penny remarks, all too nonchalantly.

”Huh?”

”I said I see it. But I wouldn’t do anything about it if I were you,” she sighs dryly. “It wouldn’t end well.” 

His jaw clenches.

  
”Why?”  


  
”She’s got too much going for herself.”  


Silence engulfs the room, but the unspoken words are clear as day.

She’s got too much going for herself _to be with you_

~

Penny’s been hospitalised.

In the meantime, your company assigns you to a different client. He’s an elderly man, an old war veteran with selective mutism.

You miss the chatter of a dying woman, Murray Franklin on Friday nights and the eyes of emerald green; alive but utterly lifeless. 

~

All it takes is a pillow to kill the bitch.

She squirms against him, like a defenceless, panicked mouse stuck in a trap. Head cocked sideways, he listens out for the monitor.

_beep beep beep beep_

That’s it. A little more pressure.

_beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep_

Just a little more.

_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBE**EEPBEEEEEEEEEP**_

She flatlines.

He slams the door shut.

~

It’s three am when the telephone rings.

Eyes heavy with sleep, you drag yourself to the hallway where that god-awful sound is playing.

”Hello?”

“She’s_ gone!_“ He sobs through the speaker, a cacophony of laughter and tears. Tragedy and comedy go hand in hand, for Arthur Fleck.

Your heart sinks.

”Arthur,” your eyes are wide open now, chest heaving, breath uneven. No. You need to compose yourself, for Arthur’s sake.

”Arthur, try to take a deep breath for me, okay?” Your voice is smooth, saccharine.

”You don’t understand. She was my life and now she’s gone—“ he cuts himself off, hyperventilating distantly.

”Hey, hey! Stay with me, okay? We’ll breathe together—“

”You don’t know what she did. You don’t know.”

”It doesn’t matter. Just-just focus on my voice. It’s just the two of us, right now.”

He pauses. Silent for, at least, a minute.

You tell him everything he wants to hear, sweet lies and pretty (empty) words. Yes, I’m here for you Arthur and I’ll never leave. It’s going to be alright, the pain will subside—

You check the time. The numbers read six-fourty three.

”You feeling better, now?”

”Yeah,” he breathes out with a hoarse, tired voice. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Loneliness is the deadliest of all killers. It seems he’s planned a slow death for Arthur Fleck.

”Arthur,” you question upon realisation. “How do you have my number?” 

A anxious chuckle.

”The company gave me your contact information.”

”Oh, okay. You take care, now. Call me if you need anything.”

~

The service is a small affair, with only you and Arthur in attendance.

He’s drowning in an oversized black suit, like a child playing dress up. Locks of raven hair are haphazardly slicked back and his eyes sparkle with startling clarity, a bright phosphorescent green.

He’s deep in thought, utterly alone.

Creeping closer, you take his hand in your own once more and intertwine your fingers. This time, you don’t let go.

~

His lips are warm against yours.

A hungry tongue prods the inside of your mouth, licks at every crevice and over every tooth. He suckles and slurps and you just stand there, letting him.

Penny is dead and Arthur’s grinding his hips into yours on the same couch where she lay no more than two weeks ago and this is so _wrong._

You lie limp as his bony frame clambers over you, tilting his head for a better angle. Arthur smiles a little, and you turn your head so you don’t have to look at it. 

What are you doing?

”Arthur,” you suck in a breath. He freezes, fear contorting his features. The curtains are partially drawn, the lights are off and with only pale moonlight illuminating his face, he looks mangled and skeletal.

He has a distinct face, lines of laughter and loneliness etched under and around his eyes, a long, crooked nose that that curls unattractively when he laughs and a thin lips that widen a little too far when he smiles. The face of a man whose spirit has been completely broken. Who are you to do the same to his heart?

”Let’s slow down, a little.” You smile and begin to unbutton his shirt.

Ghastly, gaunt skin greets you. He’s freakishly thin, flesh stretching over bone that protrudes painfully. His ribcage is entirely visible, the curve of each and every pair threatening to pierce the skin above it. You realise, in that moment, that you’ve never seen him eat.

Pulling him close, you kiss him fiercely and screw your eyes shut. Fingers linger in secret places, heat collects between the two of you and disgust pervades your senses.

”You’re so pretty,” he breathes out, jerking his hips upwards. Your hand is working deftly, rocking up and down his shaft. You focus your attention on a crack in the wall behind him instead.

”Always wanted this, always wanted you.” He mumbles as he spills into your hand.

You consider his words carefully. Maybe, in another life, you could’ve found it in yourself to feel for Arthur in the way he does for you. Maybe now, if you close your eyes and whisper the words to yourself, you’ll truly believe them.

”I love you.” He smiles as you shed the dress you wore to his mother’s funeral. It’s as though he’s speaking to himself, more than you. Good.

You hate yourself for doing this. Arthur is a kind soul, he doesn’t deserve to be led on but he doesn’t deserve to be in pain either and dammit, if this is how he wants to numb the feeling then the least you could do is oblige.

You’d like to feel numb, for a little while too.

“Wait,” he stills as you get on all fours, ready for him to enter you.

”What?”

He’s sheepish, a blush blooming on his neck and ears. An impatient irritation fills you. He’s talking too fucking much—

”I want to see your face.” He smiles, it’s heartbreakingly genuine and you inhale sharply, trying to contain the tears that build in your eyes.

You like him, but that’s all it is. Nothing more and nothing less.

The couch is too hard for your liking, painful against your bare back but you lie there regardless. Arthur begins to thrust, tentatively, and sighs in contentment.

His cock is thick, filling you nicely but his pace is dreadfully slow, bordering on boring.Your eyes roll over in the direction of the mantelpiece, pictures of a youthful Penny and smiling Arthur staring you in the face.

”Faster, Arthur. I want it fast, and hard.”

He looks at you quizzically, before snapping his hips with an experimentally harsh force. You suppose he’s a fast learner.

”Keep going.” you grit out. A dull fire throbs in the pit of your stomach, you moan and wriggle and feel yourself succumb to lustful ignorance.

Penny is a thing of the past, now that he’s hitting the right spots. You couldn’t care less about the funeral, about the fact that Arthur’s in love with you, the fact that this job is all you have and that you’re so fucking lonely—

“I’m—I’m not going to last!” He whines out, entire body vibrating with pleasure and you clench around him intentionally.

Not soon after, you reach orgasm. It’s short and somewhat anti-climactic but it’s an orgasm nonetheless.

Arthur nuzzles into you, whispering sweet nothings.

You stare at the door, noticing how it’s been double locked from the inside.


End file.
